"You're not going to do something? Those guys are revolting. It's gone way past a joke."
She had him figured out. Careless on the surface, all slouch and drift, but underneath he couldn't stand watching someone small get pushed around.
"Huh."
He scratched his head, a rueful smile surfacing.
"Was it that obvious? I thought I was hiding it pretty well."
He'd meant to watch a while longer, see whether they'd take it further, and she'd read him in a glance.
"We haven't known each other long, but you're a good person. No question."
She brushed a strand of hair back from her ear, smiling, approval sitting in her eyes.
"What you did for Enju alone, that's not simple even with superpowers behind it. Anyone else would've walked away."
Gojo stretched, then pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead. Those blue eyes came into the light, lazy, with something serious buried under it.
"Well, if you're going to beg like that, I suppose I'll trouble myself."
"Tch. That line works on little girls. Try it on a grown woman and see how far it gets you."
She rolled her eyes, mockery in her voice, a faint smile on her mouth anyway.
"Relax. No strange ideas here."
He shrugged, easy about it, and started toward the group.
He didn't hurry. Something about the walk pushed ahead of him regardless, and passersby stepped out of his path without knowing why, frowning at their own reaction.
"Hey. You lot."
He stopped behind them, voice level, not loud, and every word landed.
"Planning to leave just like that?"
The laughter cut off. Feet stopped moving.
The blond turned, looked him over from shoes to hair, and sneered.
"You talking to us, white-haired brat?"
To him the kid looked barely into his teens. Clean face, clean clothes, some rich boy who'd never had a rough day. Nothing worth worrying about.
"Who else?"
Gojo stood where he was, smile hovering at the edge of not being one, cold amusement in his eyes. Cursed Energy had already begun to stir around him.
"Now this is funny. Somebody actually wants to play hero."
They traded looks and broke out laughing, contempt running through all of it.
"Ha, the brat's brain-damaged. Sticking his nose in our business."
"Didn't think idiots like this still existed. You got any idea who we are?"
"Right? Guess we'll have to teach him what he should and shouldn't get involved in."
Still laughing, they cracked their knuckles and closed in around him, ready to show this kid exactly how little he understood about the world.
"Oi. You want to be a hero, is that it?"
One of them raised a hand, palm down, and let go.
Coins spilled from his fingers toward the pavement.
Clink, clink, clink, clink.
The little chimes rang out one after another, sharp and ugly against the noise of the street.
"Want to be a hero? Then pick them up. If you've got what it takes."
The coins lay scattered across the ground. The group stood over them wearing the same taunting grin, waiting to watch him humiliate himself in front of a crowd.
"Tch."
Gojo clicked his tongue, patience visibly thinning.
"Idiots. Can't even work up the interest to talk to them."
The bystanders who'd stopped to watch saw something they'd remember.
The coins on the pavement, lying still one second, lifted off the ground the next. They rose slowly, spreading into a neat arrangement in the air, held there by nothing at all.
Gravity had quietly excused itself.
Some impossible magician working in a way no human hand could manage. Some hidden force with its fingers on every one of them.
Gasps went up. Phones came out. Voices climbed over each other.
"God, what is that? Why are the coins floating?"
"That's incredible. Is it a trick? Or does that kid have powers?"
"Doesn't look like a trick. No props, no setup, they just went up."
The thugs had been laughing. Watching their own coins rise back off the ground killed it mid-breath.
Grins froze and slid off, replaced by blank shock, mouths open wide enough to park something in.
Nothing in their experience covered this.
"Is this street magic?"
One of them gaped at the coins and turned to the guy beside him, half question, half disbelief, hand already reaching out.
His fingers passed through the air next to a coin and found nothing. No wire threaded through them. No rig. They hung there, perfectly still.
Then the coins moved.
One flickered through the air, so fast it whistled.
Before any of them could flinch, it hit.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
A run of dull impacts, one on top of the next.
Gojo drove Cursed Energy into every coin and struck with the flat circular faces.
Heads. Cheeks. Ribs. Arms. Legs. Nothing missed.
An invisible fist hammering them from every angle, and each coin was a knuckle, every hit sending pain deep.
"Agh!"
"What the hell is this?!"
"It hurts! Who's hitting me?!"
"Run! Get out of here!"
"Somebody help!"
Inside a few seconds they were howling, and the noise carried the length of the shopping street.
Coin patterns stamped clear into their faces, foreheads, forearms, the skin around them swelling red, blood beading up in places.
Like being worked over with hammers. Nothing they could stand.
The first instinct was flight. Every trace of swagger had burned off, leaving only fear.
Against him, though, running was never on the table.
The coins had woven a cage in the air around them, front, back, both sides. Whichever way they broke, something met them hard. No opening existed.
Not until he decided the lesson had landed.
So on a busy shopping street, the crowd watched a handful of thugs get thrashed by nobody at all, screaming where they stood, faces going purple and swollen.
They covered their heads and scrambled, and the cage held. In the end they curled up on the ground with their arms over their skulls, guarding what mattered, taking it, the screams thinning out.
Pedestrians stopped walking and gathered to watch. The commentary got louder, and the way they looked at Gojo shifted into something close to awe.
"That's unreal. The kid actually has powers!"
"Serves them right. Picking on a blind girl. That's what you get!"
"Feels good, honestly. Somebody finally dealt with them."
He wasn't going to take it further.
They hadn't crossed a truly serious line. They hadn't laid a hand on the girl. Strictly speaking it amounted to cruelty for fun.
A beating would do. Bloody their faces, make it stick, make them think twice before leaning on someone weaker again.
Once they'd been on the ground and wailing for a while, the coins stopped and returned to the air, drifting back into their neat formation.
"Don't forget your coins. Consider it your medical fund."
He stood over them, no sympathy anywhere in his voice, only a thin chill.
The coins fell as he spoke, streaked with blood, landing in front of them with a bright clatter.
Only then did they notice the beating had ended.
Bruised everywhere, shaking with pain, they eased their eyes open, terror and wreckage in equal measure, unable to lift their heads.
Whatever arrogance they'd walked in with was gone, burned out and replaced by fear that went straight to the bone.
None of them understood what had happened, or how, or who this kid was, or what he could do.
But it traced back to him. That much was certain. And he was not somebody they could touch.
They exchanged a look, mouths clamped shut, terrified anything they said would restart it.
Medical money didn't matter anymore. Getting out did.
One of them made a strangled noise and they hauled themselves up, pain and all, stumbling into a run like men fleeing a fire.
They sprinted. Nobody stopped for the coins on the ground. A second's delay might mean another round.
Watching them scatter, Gojo laughed under his breath and twitched a finger.
The coins shot up off the pavement and chased them down, dropping neatly into their pockets one by one with a soft rattle.
Their medical fund. And a memory they'd keep.
That handled, he turned and walked toward the girl.
The crowd parted for him, respect and something warmer in their faces, and a few people started clapping.
He stopped in front of her, crouched down, and softened his voice as much as he could. Her face still held that lost, frightened look.
"Did that scare you?"
All that screaming and impact had to have reached her.
Her body stiffened at the sound of someone addressing her. Then that same bright thank-you smile surfaced.
"No. Thank you for worrying, but I'm all right."
She couldn't see him. She could hear that his voice was gentle and carried nothing bad in it.
"Some punks took your money."
He patted his pocket and pulled out cash, what was left from the shopping trip with Betty. Not small bills.
"But don't worry. I got it back for you. Added a little extra, too."
He slipped the notes into the ceramic bowl, careful about it, moving slowly so as not to startle her.
The paper settled with a soft rustle she could hear.
"Oh, so that's what happened. Thank you so much."
"Thank you for helping me. Thank you for the money."
Her smile widened, and she bowed low toward him, gratitude filling every word.
"Glad you're okay. Where do you live? I'll take you home."
She was about the same age as the girls back in the 39th Area, and something turned over in his chest looking at her.
A child this small, blind, begging alone on a street. Nobody should have to.